


Make a Career Out of Robbing Banks

by thegirlwhoknits



Series: The Phoenix Pack [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Peter, F/F, Fluff, M/M, Steter - Freeform, Stuart is not evil, because apparently i can't write anything else, criminals au, the Pack trolls Parrish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 15:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2073372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwhoknits/pseuds/thegirlwhoknits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based loosely off of Ian's episode of Beauty and the Beast and the Fall Out Boy song "Phoenix".  Sheriff Stilinski sends Parrish undercover to try and get his sons out of Peter Hale's gang, The Phoenix Pack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make a Career Out of Robbing Banks

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes on characterization: I didn't make Stuart evil in this one. His characterization is based on season one Stiles; Stiles is based on his post-nogitsune self, so he's a little more settled and serious, but still very mischeivous. Peter's a little bit lighter, eventually. My theory is that being mated to Stiles stabilizes him, and also he didn't have to die and come back in this 'verse. Also he's the Alpha of a Pack that supports him.
> 
> This is all from Deputy Parrish's POV, because I think it's adorable.
> 
> Scott McCall and Kate Argent are dead; they died prior to the start of this story and their deaths will not be shown.
> 
> Eternal thanks to [Mar](http://bxdcubes.tumblr.com) and [notmissmarple](http://notmissmarple.tumblr.com) for their betaing and cheerleading!

Jordan Parrish ducked into the basement of the sheriff’s station, feeling a little silly about all the subterfuge. He had no idea why Sheriff Stilinski wanted to meet him down here instead of in his office, and if the man himself hadn’t handed him the Post-It, he might have wondered if it was a trap.

He threaded his way through shelves of old case files to where the sheriff stood at the back of the room, leaning against a stack of boxes and flipping through a thick file with a frown.  He looked up as the deputy came to stand in front of him.

“Parrish. Sorry to drag you down here like this, son, but we need to keep this quiet.  I want to make this clear before we go any further: what I’m about to ask you to do isn’t officially sanctioned.  If that makes you uncomfortable, you can walk away now.  But if you stay, I’m going to need to keep everything we discuss just between us.”  He paused, giving the deputy a chance to absorb his words.

Jordan did think it over for a moment. He prided himself on being an honest cop, and ‘off the books’ could have a lot of meanings.  Ultimately, though, he trusted the sheriff.  In the three months he’d worked under the man, he’d found him to be nothing but intelligent, fair, and even kind.  Without any more hesitation, he nodded.

Sheriff Stilinski blew out a sigh of relief and handed him the file.  “This is everything we have on a group of criminals who call themselves the Phoenix Pack.  They’re wanted for questioning in cases of fraud, unarmed robbery, and various internet crimes.  With the exception of one suspected murder, in 2011, all their crimes have been non-violent.”

He watched as Parrish flipped through the file, scanning the reports on the individual gang members.  The suspected leader was Peter Hale, who, along with his nephew Derek, had been considered suspects in the murder the sheriff mentioned.  The other alleged Pack members included Lydia Martin, and…Stiles and Stuart Stilinski.  Suddenly it was apparent why the sheriff wanted this project kept under the radar.

“To answer your question, yes—those are my sons.  The official investigation into the murder of Kate Argent and the Pack’s subsequent activities is officially being handled by Agent McCall of the FBI.  I’m not allowed to get anywhere near it, for obvious reasons.  Though to be honest, Agent McCall’s objectivity could be called into question as well. He’s made it very clear that he blames Stiles for his son Scott being killed.  They were best friends, and Rafael believes Stiles got him involved in gang activity, which brought him to Kate Argent’s attention.”

“Which led to her…electrocuting him to death?” Jordan’s eyes widened as he took in the details of the crime.

“She also put Lydia Martin, who was with Scott at the time Kate abducted him, into the hospital. In response to which Peter and Derek Hale, with the help of my sons, allegedly set Ms. Argent on fire and slit her throat,” the sheriff said grimly.  “Shortly afterward, they all disappeared from Beacon Hills.  The rest is all in that file.  There’s an outstanding warrant for Derek and Peter Hale in connection with Kate’s death, but no one’s ever been able to make anything stick to any other member of the Pack. Three years’ worth of sporadic criminal activity, no obvious pattern, no trail to follow. Until now.”

He handed the deputy another, smaller file.  “My network was able to intercept this. It’s an e-mail contracting one Kyle Brooks, professional thief and con artist, to help the Phoenix Pack with a job.  We made sure Brooks never received it.  I need someone to go undercover as Brooks and infiltrate the Pack.”

Jordan took the file without glancing at it. He looked Sheriff Stilinski in the eye instead.  “And what is it you want me to do once I’m in?”

The older man rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead and sighed.  “I just…I want to know how involved Stiles and Stuart are in all this.  If there’s any chance they’ve been roped into it against their will.  I met Peter Hale once—he’s a very charismatic man.  If there’s any possibility I can get my sons out from under his thumb, I want to know about it.  If not…just gather all the evidence you can, and we’ll decide where to go from there.”

Parrish squared his shoulders.  “Just tell me when and where, sir.”

The look the sheriff gave him was so profoundly grateful it made Jordan’s heart ache.  “Brooks is supposed to meet the Pack tomorrow night, at a bar in Portland. I’m sorry for the short notice, but this is the first lead we’ve had in a year and a half, and I had to act fast.  All our intel on Brooks is in that file.  You’re a match for his height, weight, and hair color, and my sources say none of the Pack have ever met him in person. That’s borne out by the contact details in the e-mail.  You’re to recognize Peter by a tattoo on his neck, and signal your identity by twisting a ring on your right ring finger.

“I’m not going to lie to you, son, this is a high-risk operation.  The Pack’s not tied to any violent crimes that we know of, apart from Kate, but Peter Hale is an unpredictable man, and highly intelligent.  I’m not sending you in with any surveillance equipment; Agent McCall has never been able to get any past them.  You’ll be on your own apart from cell contact, which for obvious reasons should be kept to a minimum.  If you’re in trouble, I have local contacts who’ll do their best to get you out, but there’s no official back-up on this one.”

“I understand, sir.”  Parrish accepted the cell phone the sheriff handed him and turned to leave.

“And Jordan?  Thank you for doing this.” Sheriff Stilinski said quietly, sounding close to tears. Parrish nodded and left without turning around.

~

The bar in Portland was a standard-issue seedy dive, and Parrish hoped he looked disreputable enough in his black jeans, leather jacket and boots.  He knew how young and clean-cut he looked in his deputy’s uniform, but he also had some experience with undercover, so there was a passable confidence to his stride.

He spotted Peter by the pool table in the back, immediately recognizable by the large dragon tattoo on his neck, framed by a deep v-neck. Guy certainly wasn’t subtle.  Neither were the rest of the Pack, ranged around the table.  Derek hulked in the shadows, glowering at anyone who looked like they might be getting too close.  One of the Stilinski twins was sitting on the edge of the empty stage behind Peter. His gaze flitted over the crowd, bored, as he took a swig from his longneck.  Parrish didn’t see the other twin anywhere.  A curvy redhead lounged against the pool table next to her boss, the other cue in her hand. She gave an appreciative whistle as Peter sunk his shot.

_Lydia Martin,_ Parrish thought.  Her file said she was Peter’s main squeeze, which made sense if the man cared enough about her to kill.  He certainly hadn’t taken out Kate Argent on McCall’s behalf; according to the reports, Scott had only been involved with the gang for a few months.  Parrish could definitely see the appeal.

He strolled to a stop just as Peter unbent from his shot. The older man looked him up and down, his eyes hard and unimpressed.

“Help you with something?” he drawled.

“No, but I think I can help you,” he countered, twisting the silver ring on his right hand.

Peter glanced at it, then gave a short nod over his shoulder at Derek, who stepped up closer. “And you are…?” he asked.

“Brooks,” Parrish said shortly.

The group visibly relaxed.  The Stilinski twin stopped fiddling with his beer and looked at Jordan with interest.

“I’m Peter. That’s my nephew Derek,” the man said curtly.

“I’ll get the van,” Derek grunted.  He didn’t look the slightest bit interested in the proceedings.  The sheriff’s files said that Derek was the muscle, and also acted as Peter’s bodyguard.

“Lydia,” the redhead purred, taking his hand and raking her eyes over him.

The Stilinski twin came up and hip-checked her. “Hey, Lyds, stop hogging the view,” he groused, holding out his hand as Lydia rolled her eyes and backed off.  “I’m Stiles.  Not to be confused with my uglier half, who you’ll meet back at base.”

His amber gaze was intense as he stared into Parrish’s eyes a little too long, as if he were searching for something.

“Let’s go!” Peter barked, heading for the front of the bar. 

Stiles shrugged and made to follow. Then, with a wicked glance at his boss’s retreating back, he turned and leaned into Parrish’s space. He paused for a brief moment before catching Jordan’s mouth in a thorough kiss, his tongue exploring the deputy’s mouth curiously.

He still felt a little dazed as Stiles pulled back, linked arms with Lydia, and whispered conspiratorially, “I like this one, he’s cute. Think Peter’ll let us keep him?”

The redhead just snorted and hauled him, still grinning, towards the door.  Parrish shook himself and followed.  _Crap, the sheriff’s gonna kill me if he finds out about that one. What the hell have I gotten myself into?_

~

The atmosphere in the van was tense. As soon as they exited the bar, Peter had pulled Stiles aside, pushed him up against the brick wall and growled something at him Parrish couldn’t hear.  At first the young man grinned at him cheekily, but faced with Peter’s continuing glare he finally muttered something apologetic and climbed into the back of the van without another word.

Parrish felt a small bloom of hope in his chest. The sheriff described his oldest kid as stubborn, intelligent, and independent. If Peter was keeping him on a tight enough leash that being overly friendly with the help got him a dressing-down, there’s no way that collar wasn’t starting to chafe.  He settled down next to the younger man, but didn’t try to strike up a conversation, just observed him out of the corner of his eye as he flipped though his phone.

He got his chance when they arrived at the warehouse the Pack was using as home base. It was obviously temporary. The Pack was rumored to be nomadic, moving from town to town for the jobs they had planned, or were hired to do.  If they had a real home base, no one had ever seen it.

“Let’s check on Stuart,” Peter said to Derek as they strode through the doors. “The rest of you, shut up and don’t piss me off.”

The two of them peeled off to talk to Stiles’ brother, buried behind a bank of electronics at the other end of the large, open room. Lydia threw herself on a couch in the makeshift living area without bothering to take out her headphones, and began flipping through a magazine.  Stiles slouched at the other end, leaving a ratty plaid armchair for Parrish.  He cracked open the cooler doubling as a coffee table and tossed Parrish a beer.  The bottle had a picture of a howling wolf on the label and it tasted funny; he settled for pretending to sip it while Stiles watched him with a tiny smirk.

“So what’s Peter’s deal?” he ventured, gesturing at the other side of the warehouse, where their boss seemed to be engaged in a heated argument with his nephew.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “That’s a long story.”

Parrish pretended to take another sip.  “He doesn’t seem to treat you guys very well, apart from Lydia.”

“Well…” Stiles shrugged, seeming unconcerned.

“I’m just saying, I wouldn’t put up with it.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t,” he said. “You’ve definitely got some backbone; I like that about you. Be careful with Peter, though. He’s got a hair trigger. I’d hate to see that backbone get ripped out.”

“Why do you stay, then?” Jordan asked casually, hoping that he wasn’t pushing too much.

Another shrug. “Guy’s gotta eat.  It’s good work, steady pay, and Peter’s got a use for both of us.  Stuart and I have to look out for ourselves these days.”

_No you don’t,_ Parrish wanted to say. _McCall’s got nothing on either of you; your dad would take you back in a heartbeat. You could go to school, have a normal life._ Now wasn’t the time for that, though.  He needed more information before he could try persuading the twins to leave with him.

A loud bang startled him out of his thoughts.  At first he thought it was a gun, and he almost jumped to his feet and reached for his absent sidearm.  Apparently, Peter and Derek’s argument had gone beyond heated and was edging into violent.  This didn’t seem to alarm the rest of the Pack: Lydia didn’t take off her headphones or even look up.  Stiles eased himself off the couch and sauntered over to the Hales, putting his hand on Derek’s bicep without seeming concerned about the dent the man had just left in the metal table.  He said something Parrish couldn’t catch, low and serious.  Derek didn’t look happy about it, but he backed off, going to look over Stuart’s shoulders at an array of monitors.  Stiles continued talking calmly to Peter, bending over the blueprints they had laid out and pointing.  After a few minutes, his boss nodded and rolled up the papers.

“Alright,” Peter said, turning around. He didn’t raise his voice much, but his tone carried an edge of command, and this time everyone instantly looked up and came to gather around the table.  “We’ll meet back here tomorrow at 14:00. Make sure you’re changed and ready to go.  Stuart’s going to brief you on the plan.”

He stepped aside, and Parrish got his first good look at Stiles’ twin.  Despite being identical, there was no mistaking them for each other.  Stuart was dressed in a graphic t-shirt and layers of plaid, in contrast to Stiles’ black jeans and faded grey henley.  His hair was covered by a beanie, and he wore black-framed glasses.  The sheriff hadn’t said anything about the twins having a vision impairment, so he assumed they were for fashion rather than function.  He seemed slightly distracted, as though he were processing multiple streams of data at once, even away from his computers.

“Okay, first of all, remember you’ll technically be on Russian soil, so if you get caught it’s Siberia, not Riker’s.” A grim chuckle rippled through the group. “Stiles will take out their…special alert system…before you go through the gate.”

If he hadn’t been paying close attention to the Pack’s dynamics, Parrish might have missed the way everyone tried not to look at him at once.  Obviously there was some part of the plan they didn’t feel comfortable sharing with him. He just hoped it didn’t involve Stiles murdering anyone.

“Lydia will pick the third-floor key card off the consul general and get it to Stiles.  All the guards are normals except the two on the room; Peter and Derek will take care of those.  As always, if you’re confronted by a normal, use non-lethal force only.”  This time the glances at Parrish were overt, and Peter stared at him until he nodded.  “Brooks and Stiles—after I take out the electronic surveillance, get to the third-floor ducts; you’ll have five minutes tops to get the gem out of the safe in the bedroom and back downstairs before all hell breaks loose. Any questions?”

“Yeah. What if all hell breaks loose?” Parrish asked. ‘Non-lethal’ force sounded good, but what would the Pack do if they were cornered?

“Then we charm our way out.” Peter gave him a smile with far too many teeth, and Lydia stifled a giggle.

“Your comms and identification are in your uniforms,” Stuart continued, ignoring the interruption.  “That’s all I’ve got for you on this one, folks. Don’t party too hard tonight.”

The Pack broke up, everyone grabbing their uniform bags and heading for the door.  Stiles hung back a little as Parrish grabbed his jacket off the armchair. “You got a place to stay tonight?”

“Not really,” Parrish admitted.  He’d hoped to stay close to the Pack and gather as much intel as he could.

“C’mon then,” Stiles said, slinging his arm around Jordan’s shoulders. “You can bunk with me and Stu.”

A low growl echoed through the warehouse.  Parrish looked over his shoulder to see Peter glowering at them, and for a moment he almost thought he saw a glint of red in the other man’s gaze.  Stiles ignored it, though, so he followed the younger man out the door.

~

He learned two important things by staying with the twins.  First, the Pack was obviously doing well for itself. Instead of the divey motel Parrish expected, Stiles showed him into a parlor suite at the Sentinel. The second was why the Stilinskis were so tied to the Pack—Stuart was sleeping with Peter’s nephew.  Derek came by the room just after they finished demolishing the food they’d ordered from room service; Stuart left with him and came back three hours later, rumpled and glowing.

“Does Peter know about them?” he asked Stiles.

“Literally _nothing_ goes on around here that Peter doesn’t know about,” he replied, sounding faintly exasperated. “I think he prefers that we keep our fucking in-house, anyway. You might have noticed he’s not too keen on outsiders.”

“Yeah, I got that impression.” Parrish said wryly.

“It’s kind of a shame—you really are pretty.” Stiles smirked. “But like I said, I think you probably look better with your spine on the inside.”

“Is he really that violent?”

Stiles’ face turned serious.  “He can be,” he said, sounding a little sad.

They changed the subject after that, had a couple of beers and watched some TV before turning in for the night.  Parrish laid awake for a long time, pondering ways to get the sheriff back his sons.

~

They reconvened at the warehouse at the appointed time, dressed as caterers. Peter’s collared shirt effectively covered his tattoo.  They piled in the same van as before, now with a sticker on the back that read, “Twilight Blue Catering.” 

Peter spoke in Russian to the guards outside the embassy, and everyone handed up their IDs. Derek handed over Stiles’—he was in the back of the van, his eyes tightly shut, muttering to himself.

_Maybe he’s talking to Stuart?_ Parrish speculated, confused.  Peter kept talking to the guard, chatting away companionably in Russian, until Derek tapped his arm lightly. Stile had finished whatever he was doing.

“We’re in,” Derek said over the comms as they drove through the gates and around back to the service entrance.  “Have you got eyes on us?”

_“All their camera are belong to me,”_ Stuart quipped.  Parrish saw one of the security cameras revolve to track their progress. _“Give us a kiss, pretty boy.”_

Derek snorted and rolled his eyes in the direction of the camera.

~

The first part of the plan went without a hitch. 

“Of course,” Lydia said smugly, handing over the key card to Stiles. “It was _my_ part of the plan.” She grabbed a fresh tray of champagne and strutted back out into the crowd, her black cocktail dress snugly skimming her curves.

_“Keep the consul general’s wife drinking; we need her to stay downstairs,”_ Stuart reminded her.

When they’d made it up the servant’s stair and used the key card to open the door to the third floor, Stiles and Parrish headed for the ducts while Peter and Derek went to take care of the guards outside the room.  They dropped down silently, and Stiles walked over the cabinet that housed the safe. Holding out a hand to keep him from coming any closer, Stiles closed his eyes and began muttering something again.  There was a brief flash of blue light, a click, and the cabinet door swung open.

“Your turn,” he said, gesturing Parrish forward.

He shook off his surprise and took a close look at the safe, thanking his lucky stars that the Pack’s info had been correct and it was the same make they’d told Brooks. He’d had a chance to practice on it the night before he left for Portland; apparently the sheriff was good friends with the owner of a local security company who happened to have several popular safes in stock.

He had it open with a minute to spare, revealing a gaudy diamond necklace with a huge yellow gem in the center.  Stiles slipped the necklace in the inside pocket of his jacket, whistling appreciatively.

“I have to admit, I’m impressed,” he said. “I was a little worried that your lack of experience might throw a wrench in things, but you’re not a half-bad safecracker, Deputy Parrish. You might just have a future in crime.”

_Shit_ , was the last thing Parrish thought before a solid blow to the head knocked him out.

~

Parrish came to slowly, his head aching.  He kept his eyes closed, trying to gather as much information as he could about his situation and surroundings before he gave away the fact that he was conscious.  Wherever he was, it wasn’t the warehouse.  The sounds were more muffled, the air warmer and smelling of old books.  Whatever he was lying on was comfortable and felt like it might be leather.  There was a quiet murmur of conversation and then laughter—female, probably Lydia.

“He’s awake,” he heard Derek say gruffly, and he gave up and opened his eyes.

Stuart’s blurry face popped into his field of view. “Hey man, you’re back with us! Turns out there was a guard inside the room too; he managed to knock you out before Peter and Derek could get there. We were worried you wouldn’t wake up.”

“It might have been better if he hadn’t,” Peter growled.  Parrish propped himself up and looked around carefully.  The Pack’s leader was sitting in a window seat, with Stiles straddling his lap and dabbing at his tattoo with a cotton ball.

“Be nice,” the sheriff’s son admonished him, tapping him on the nose with a fingertip. Peter caught it between his teeth and looked up at Stiles through his lashes. “You know he’s not one of McCall’s men, or I would have sent him packing at the bar. The Eagle said my dad sent him—he’s just worried about me and Stu.  Now sit still.”

“It would be easier to sit still if you weren’t trying to rub off three layers of my skin,” Peter complained.

“It’s not my fault! Jesus, Lyds, what did you draw this thing on with? I think an actual tattoo would be easier to remove.”

“Here, try this.” The redhead tossed a bottle at him.

Parrish looked at what he’d previously thought was a group of hardened criminals—now laughing, bantering, and _cuddling_ —with amazement.

“How hard did you say that guard hit me?” he asked.

Derek chuckled, coming to sit at the end of the couch Parrish was lying on. “Poor guy.  Peter likes us to put a tough act on for outsiders; it keeps the number of people willing to cross us to a minimum. And when Stiles told us who you really were, well… It was hard not to mess with you a little more than usual.  Although Stiles flirting with you to make Peter jealous might have been a bit over the line.”

“Sorry about that!” Stiles chirped, sounding utterly unrepentant. He seemed to have finished removing Peter’s fake neck tattoo and was busy trying to replace it with marks of his own.

“To make _Peter_ jealous? I thought he was with Lydia?” _Way to focus on the important point, Deputy,_ he told himself.

Lydia laughed. “Oh honey, he’s _so_ not my type.”

“Peter likes to keep Stiles under the radar,” Stuart explained.  “Lydia’s the bling; she keeps the crowd distracted while Stiles does his thing in the background.”

Squeezing his eyes shut and trying to focus, Parrish finally asked the important question. “How did you know who I was?”

Stiles broke off making out with Peter long enough to answer. “We have a few informants back in Beacon Hills. They keep an eye on law enforcement and look out for the people we care about there.  Also, Kyle Brooks is a werewolf.”

~

He will deny under oath passing out again when Derek flashed his fangs and claws.  When he woke up this time someone had gotten take-out, and the Pack continued their explanation while swapping boxes of Chinese food.  Stuart covered the background information first: The Pack was a literal pack, with Peter as Alpha. Peter and Derek were werewolves, Lydia was a banshee (which mostly seemed to involve hearing voices), Stiles was some kind of magic-user, and Stuart was ‘extraordinarily gifted and awesome, dude.’  Stuart and Stiles were their respective boyfriend’s ‘mates,’ which he gathered was the werewolf equivalent of soul mates.

After he finished reeling from that and asking approximately a million questions, Stiles pulled out some beers—wolfsbane-infused for the wolves, which explained the weird taste—and they got down to the more serious subject of the Pack’s origins.

“The first thing you need to know is that Kate was responsible for the fire that killed Peter and Derek’s family,” Stiles began fiercely.

“I thought that was ruled an accident?”

Stuart snorted. “Only because Kate and her dad bribed everybody and their brother to say that.”

“Derek and Laura were still at school when it happened,” his twin continued. “Peter was in the house, and was burned so badly he was catatonic for the next six years, even with werewolf healing.  He was in the long-term care ward at Beacon Hills Memorial. Derek and Laura visited him every week, but they just didn’t have the resources to help him. When he finally started to come out of it, his nurse figured out what he was—apparently she had some hunters in her own family tree.  She kept him feral, and after one of Laura’s visits, on the full moon, she let him out to kill her.  Laura was the Alpha, and whoever kills an Alpha inherits their power; I guess the nurse thought Peter would be grateful or something and give her the Bite as a reward.

“But the grief and guilt of killing his niece, combined with the sudden rush of power, pushed him completely over the edge. He killed the nurse and went on a rampage.” Stiles fell quiet suddenly, taking a long pull of his beer.  Peter scooted closer and wrapped himself around his mate.

“That’s how Stiles and I got involved with everything.” Stuart picked up the story for him. “Peter accidentally bit Scott, who was Stiles’ best friend, and when he shifted back he went looking for him to make sure he was alright. He met Stiles, and the mate bond settled him down a lot.  Then I met Derek, and the four of us started trying to work out how to get the guys involved in the fire arrested. Lydia got sucked in because she’s a nosy bitch.” The fond look he directed at the redhead took any sting out of his words. She stuck out her tongue at him in return.

“Then Kate came back to town; I guess she’d heard that Peter woke up.  Chris Argent, her brother, had always suspected she and their dad had something to do with the fire, so he refused to help her.  She tried to get to Peter through his beta—Scott.”

Lydia leaned forward and grabbed another beer. “I was just in the way,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t stop her from taking Scott, but I managed to text Stiles before I passed out.  By the time I woke up in the hospital, Scott was…gone, Kate was dead, and these four assholes had left town. Took me three weeks to track them down after I was released, and the rest is history.”

“We hated leaving Dad,” Stiles said, his voice sounding a little choked. “But Peter and Derek couldn’t stay, and they’re our _mates._   And I wasn’t exactly…uninvolved, in the whole Kate thing, and I couldn’t put Dad in that position.  So here we are.”

Silence fell over the group as Jordan mulled this over.  When he felt he had everything straight in his mind, he looked up at Peter.  He was starting to get a sinking feeling about why they felt so comfortable telling him all this.  “So, what happens now?  I get found in a shallow grave somewhere?”

Derek growled. “We’re not in the habit of killing innocents.”

“And if we did kill you, you certainly wouldn’t be found,” Peter added, somewhat less comfortingly.

“Basically, you have three options, none of which ends with you dead,” Stiles said. “One, promise you won’t rat on our whereabouts—and werewolves have, like, built-in lie detectors—and you can go home to our dad and tell him we’re okay but we’re not coming back.  Two, I can wipe your memory a little bit and leave you outside town like a lost puppy.  Or three, you can throw your lot in with us and come along for the ride. I did say you might have a future in crime.”

He definitely didn’t like the sound of option two. So the question was, would the sheriff rather have the dubious comfort of what little Parrish could tell him about his sons’ well-being, or know that he had someone on the inside actively watching over them?

“How long do I have to decide?”

“Well, we’re kind of stuck here until our fence gets back to us about meeting to offload the gem, so I guess until then?” Stuart said.

“Any word from Nightingale?” Derek asked Lydia.

“Not yet, but we should hear from her soo—” Her phone chimed, and she pulled it out.  Her face went white as she read the message. “ _Shit.”_

She looked up at the Pack with barely concealed panic. “Change of plans, guys. Nightingale needs our help—the Eagle’s been kidnapped.”

The others snapped to their feet immediately. Derek started cleaning up their mess while Stuart packed up his laptop. 

“I want everyone out the door in twenty,” Peter barked, some of his previous air of command returning.

Stiles turned to Parrish with a raised eyebrow.  “Time’s up.  You coming with us, or do you have a report to make to my dad?”

Jordan looked around at the little group.  They’d been through so much, and here they were, rushing off to help someone else.  He was suddenly sure what the sheriff would want him to do.  “I’m in.”

Stiles clapped him on the back. “Glad to hear it. Welcome to the Phoenix Pack, man.”


End file.
